I always knew my sister was special.
But that was supposed to mean "special to the family," nothing more.
At least, that's what I believed.
I was wrong.
For the past few days, our family has been staying in our territory. The main purpose was twofold: my ongoing sorcery research and a consolation visit to the Current Lady, requested personally by Spica.
Originally, it was supposed to be a trip for just the two of us. But since Spica hadn't been to the territory since she was two, Father and Mother insisted on coming along. Then my younger brothers joined in, turning it into a full family trip.
Completely unplanned. Still, since I got busy once we reached the territorial capital and couldn't see Spica as often as I wanted, it probably turned out for the best—though I'll admit, I wasn't thrilled.
Because of my sorcery research, the church delayed my visitation permit. When it finally arrived, the condition was clear: "You may enter only as a member of the lord's family."
That annoyed me a bit—Spica had already been waiting so long—but I understood. The church guards its mysteries. Better to yield this time than to keep her waiting.
And so, the day of the consolation visit arrived.
We reached the Sanctuary without issue. The only minor tension came when Father and the Cardinal engaged in a subtle nobility duel—verbal, not magical. Spica probably didn't notice.
Still, I hadn't expected what came next.
The church had fewer candidates for the Maiden of the Barrier in recent years—but to go so far as to court a child not yet debuted? Unthinkable.
Rumor said this Cardinal had gained his current position by offering his late-born daughter as a Maiden. If he arranged the next Maiden as well, he'd strengthen his influence within the church. I made a note to stay alert.
Now, on the Sanctuary, we were blindfolded before entering. The walk disoriented us—clearly intentional—to keep the Sanctuary's location secret. I suspected the guides changed along the way. Only a handful in the church must know the true route.
I worried Spica might be scared, but she stayed calm. Brave girl.
After a long walk, the guide finally removed our blindfolds. My eyes adjusted quickly. We stood in a round, windowless chamber, dimly lit by candles.
Spica's face showed calm excitement. She already knew—the Sanctuary lay beyond.
I recognized this room. Two years ago, during the Maiden of the Barrier succession, I'd been brought here as head-of-house proxy. That time, nerves dulled my focus. Now, I examined the floor's magic circle closely. It resembled a teleportation sigil, though its structure hinted at barrier layering—perhaps both.
Then the Cardinal spoke, and the circle ignited.
A compound formation—teleportation, barrier transfer, and seal-release matrices layered together, disguised by false inscriptions. Even I hadn't detected it at first glance. The second time, though, I recognized fragments of familiar runes.
After a beat, we arrived in a dim stone chamber.
Two raised chambers stood in the center—coffin-like, side by side. Soft light emanated from the embedded tools at the corners, enough to see by.
When the Cardinal prompted us to greet the Present Head, Spica stepped forward without hesitation—straight to the right-hand coffin.
That surprised everyone, including the Cardinal himself.
"Oh my, you knew the Current Lady rests there?" he asked, intrigued.
The coffins were tall enough that Spica shouldn't have seen inside, and no one had told her which belonged to the Current Lady. Even I had forgotten.
Spica tilted her head, puzzled.
"But... it's only natural, isn't it? This one shines so brightly."
I froze. The room was barely lit—yet Spica saw radiance.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"It's like pale yellow light, wrapping the bed in bands of writing," she said. "Like the words are ribbons stretching upward to the heavens."
Her answer made my heart race.
"Letters? You can read them?" I asked too quickly. She blinked, startled.
"Some of it. The script's ancient, but parts match the sacred text," she said softly.
In that instant, I knew.
If my theory was right, Spica could see the sorcery formula of the Maiden of the Barrier itself.
The Cardinal declared her a bearer of the Mystic Eye, but I barely heard him.
All I felt was joy—my sister held the key to mysteries scholars had chased for centuries.
I bombarded her with questions—about the characters, the origin lines, anything. She fumbled, overwhelmed.
Then Father's hand fell on my shoulder, pulling me back to reality.
"Calm yourself," he said. "You stand before the Current Lady. Greet her first. Your curiosity can wait."
Shame flooded me. As a researcher, my reaction was justified—but as heir, I'd failed.
Worse, I'd frightened Spica. That was never my intent.
I turned to Father and bowed my head.
"Forgive me."
Then I offered my hand to Spica, who looked relieved as she took it.
A few steps were all it took to calm my thoughts.
Spica could see magical formulas. That revelation alone would propel my research forward faster than ever.
We reached the raised platform marking the boundary line. I straightened, placed my hand over my heart, and offered a knight's salute.
If the Current Lady is the shield, then we, the nobility, are the spear. I saluted her with that shared duty in mind—guardians of the same kingdom.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spica perform a salute to the Lord instead of a lady's bow.
Before I could smile at her earnestness, her expression faded.
As though drawn by an unseen force, she began walking toward the coffin.
"Spica!" I reached for her, but my fingertips sparked with pain and were thrown back.
An invisible wall shimmered before me—a barrier, protecting the Sanctuary.
But why was Spica inside it?
I struck the wall and shouted her name.
"Spica! Come back! Can you hear me?"
Father shouted too. No response.
Spica stood before the coffin of the Present Head, her head moving side to side—as if refusing something. Or was she in pain? Tortured? I couldn't tell.
Then she sank to her knees. My heart froze, thinking she had collapsed—but no.
She was praying.
Relief washed over me. At least she wasn't hurt.
Then I remembered—the Cardinal was still here.
He had to know something.
"Your Excellency," I demanded, "what is happening here? Tell us, now. Depending on your answer, we won't stay silent."
The Cardinal looked just as shaken.
"This is... unprecedented. Yet, if the barrier has activated, then it must be by the Present Head's will..."
His hesitation angered Father.
"You don't mean to make my daughter the next Maiden, do you?!"
The thought jolted me. Impossible—or was it?
The church had already warned us that the Maiden's power was waning, urging us to prepare for succession...
Father and I exchanged a grim glance and slammed our hands against the barrier.
"Stop!" the Cardinal shouted. "If you strike it again, you could be repelled! We don't intend harm to the young lady, but we can't predict what the barrier might do!"
We stopped. Being expelled—or worse—would help no one.
I abandoned the spell I'd quietly been preparing to break the seal.
All we could do was watch.
About an hour and a half passed before anything changed.
Spica rose and reached toward the coffin.
My pulse quickened.
Her hand should have hit the glass lid—but instead, it bent like liquid and swallowed her hand whole.
Father and I pressed against the barrier, helpless.
Then, just as suddenly, Spica withdrew her hand. The coffin released her, and nothing more happened.
She bowed to the coffin—and the barrier vanished.
We rushed to her.
Father caught her first, pulling her into his arms.
She looked dazed, confused by everything.
I knelt beside her. "Can you tell me what happened?"
Spica blinked, thinking. Then she began to explain.
"The Current Lady called me. She said her holy power and the land's power of Emmental don't mix well, so she asked for my help. I lent her some of my strength. She said it would last for a while. But she also told me that the Current Lady of the southern land is nearly out of power too—same reason, the land rejects her energy.
And... she asked me to tell her father not to overexert himself."
I thought it over.
So holy power interacts with the land's innate energy... That could explain why recent Maidens of the Barrier burn out so quickly.
If Spica truly shared her power, maybe we could develop a method to stabilize future Maidens—extend their service safely.
Then Father's voice cut through my thoughts.
"Spica! Spica!"
I turned.
She'd gone limp in his arms—unconscious.
Cold fear gripped me.
We'd let our guard down after she returned from the barrier.
Could she have fallen into duty sleep?
The Cardinal stepped forward.
"We can't treat her here. Let's move her to the church infirmary."
He was right.
We were teleported instantly—no blindfold this time—to a chamber beside the Grand Cathedral.
Emergency passage, they called it. And it was.
The healers examined her quickly.
"Exhaustion and overuse of holy power," one said. "She's entered a restorative sleep. She'll wake when her energy stabilizes. When she does, give her holy water daily for several days."
We watched over her for hours—three, maybe more. No change.
Eventually, we carried her home.
She looked so still... like she'd simply drifted away.
Mother fainted when she saw her.
Spica woke two days later, just before noon.
Our whole family had taken turns watching over her.
She recovered fast—almost too fast.
But I couldn't stop the anger simmering inside me.
The Current Lady had used her.
Unable to sustain her own power, she drew strength from an innocent child who only wanted to help.
And Spica, pure-hearted as ever, defended her.
"I'm sorry for worrying you," Spica said, smiling weakly. "But please don't blame the Current Lady. It was my choice. Promise me, okay?"
I could only nod.
Because that's who Spica is.